


Hell for Leather

by roobsk



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy & Eleven BFFs for life, Billy's not dead, Bisexual Steve Harrington, But they don't know that, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Gay Billy Hargrove, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Season/Series 03, Robin is the wingwoman we all need, Slow Burn, Stranger Things Spoilers, Will Be Violence, and sexytimes, boys don't cry except they totally do, but i expand on the time in between, eventually, in particular Steve and Billy's growing friendship, not totally canon compliant, season 3 happens, the boy's will cry, they will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-06-24 22:17:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19732870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roobsk/pseuds/roobsk
Summary: It started when Max gave him Billy’s jacket. The leather one; the tough guy one; the one he wore on dates to impress whoever he wanted to; the one he ripped off before smashing Steve’s face in. That one… although in all fairness it probably started long before that. Maybe in the bathroom with Robin when she told him about Tammy Thompson, and the secret he wanted to spill, felt safe enough to confess, got stuck in his throat. Maybe it was all those times that asshole sauntered into Scoops Ahoy and made sailor jokes or called him ‘Captain Princess.’ Or maybe, most probably, it was the first time he ever locked eyes with that blonde dick. When Billy, chest glistening with spilt beer, the cheers of the party at his back, stalked across the room just to get to him. Predator walk, predator eyes; like he wanted to eat Steve whole. Billy had looked at him like that before he’d bashed Steve’s face in that night at the Byer’s too, out by the car with smoke and his wicked tongue between them; and wasn’t that just the kicker, he still wanted Billy after it all. After that hell of a fight, or epic beatdown, as Dustin liked to call it.But regardless, it started when Max gave him Billy’s jacket.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've never written fanfiction before. Been reading it like a fiend for many years but I've never been brave enough to write any. However, season 3 spurred me into action for the love of my wounded trash son Billy and bisexual mess of a boy Steve.  
> I've made some canonical changes, most importantly that Hopper didn't die and the Byer's didn't leave... so there's that. Also, Robin and Steve started working in the video store in August because I needed somewhere for them to be and it worked this way.
> 
> This is probably going to be a long one, and I hope to be good at keeping it updated regularly. As long as my indignation at the fate of Harringrove lives on then this fic should flow pretty damn well.
> 
> Rating will most likely go up as the story progresses, but it is a slow burn so... patience my dear, sweet grasshoppers.
> 
> Thanks, hope you enjoy.

It started when Max gave him Billy’s jacket. The leather one; the tough guy one; the one he wore on dates to impress whoever he wanted to; the one he ripped off before smashing Steve’s face in. That one… although in all fairness it probably started long before that. Maybe in the bathroom with Robin when she told him about Tammy Thompson, and the secret he wanted to spill, felt safe enough to confess, got stuck in his throat. Maybe it was all those times that asshole sauntered into Scoops Ahoy and made sailor jokes or called him ‘Captain Princess.’ Or maybe, most likely of all, it was the first time he ever locked eyes with that blonde dick. When Billy, chest glistening with spilt beer, the cheers of the party at his back, stalked across the room just to get to him. Predator walk, predator eyes; like he wanted to eat Steve whole. Billy had looked at him like that before he’d bashed Steve’s face in that night at the Byer’s too, out by the car with smoke and his wicked tongue between them; and wasn’t that just the kicker, he still wanted Billy after it all. After that hell of a fight, or epic beatdown, as Dustin liked to call it.

But regardless, it started when Max gave him Billy’s jacket.

“What’s this?” Max, quiet and grave as she had been since Starcourt, held out a heavy looking bag to him on his doorstep. “It’s for you, it should be with you.”

Dustin’s curiosity must have rubbed off on him because he took hold of the bag without further question. Whatever Steve had thought would be in it, it wouldn’t have been that damn jacket. His words caught in his throat, just like they had done those few weeks – month, had it really been a whole month? – ago in the bathroom with Robin. Billy always got caught in his throat. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

It was a weak response, and Max knew it. “Yes, you do. You should have it, it’s… it’s right.”

He looked at her properly again, saw the silver Saint Christopher now hung about her neck, saw the tightness of her jaw as she held it all in. If Max could be strong and honest, so could he. “Thank you, Max.”

“His dad; he’s started boxing up Billy’s room. Like he’s… he’s something to be put away. Like we’ll forget him if we put him away.” Her lip wobbles as she speaks, tears fighting to fall in her eyes as well as his. “Billy doesn’t deserve to be put away.”

“Max-” he reaches for her, but she shoves the jacket into his chest, vicious and forceful; just like her brother.

“You keep him for me. You keep him, then he won’t be forgotten. He won’t be a bunch of boxes his dad shoves in the closet or-or throws away. You won’t throw him away.” With that, she turns and runs, throws down her skateboard and disappears from his sight.

Steve pulls the jacket from the bag Max had put it in, feels the well-worn leather soft and tough beneath his hands and brings it to his face. It still smells of cigarette smoke and ridiculous cologne, a bit of sweat – it smells of Billy. Thank god everything he did was so intense, or even the leather might not have been able to hold onto the traces of him. He squeezes it tighter, turning and wandering back into his big, empty house with the feel and scent of Billy all around him. Almost as if he were there, calling him pretty boy and shoving him around… he shouldn’t want that. But he does, has done for so long now – and Billy’s death hadn’t changed that. Hell, it had probably made it worse.

As Steve collapsed onto his bed still clutching the jacket, tears finally spilling and breath stuttering out where it could, chest feeling how Billy’s looked that last, awful time he saw him, Steve let himself wallow. Just now, just this once. Then he’d carry Billy with him like a tattoo, permanent, visceral and silent; his own traumatic little secret to sing to at night.

He should have known that jacket would bring him nothing but trouble.

_November 1984 – one week after fight night_

_Steve had been skipping school since fight night, aka the-night-of-Steve’s-ass-whooping-by-that-blonde-douchebag-but-ultimate-tunnel-based-redemption (thanks Dustin), but he figured even his parents might pay attention if the school called them now. He’d gotten a phone call from the office ensuring he’d be in on Monday, or else he’d need a doctor’s note or something equally official. Now that his face was no longer puffy and he wasn’t dizzy every time he stood up too fast, school didn’t seem like too daunting a task… except for Billy._

_The thought of the other boy kept him in the car despite the chill of the early morning. He’d gotten there early, early enough that there were hardly any other cars in the parking lot; just in case his body needed the time to get out of the damn car. He’d been dreaming of fight night every night since it happened. Even his naps weren’t safe. If he wasn’t being chased through warped, festering tunnels with the kids disappearing from him one by one as feral barking dogged his heels, then he was back at the Byers watching Jonathan and Nancy being torn to pieces. More often than not though, he dreamed of Billy. Billy sat atop him screaming as he pummelled Steve into the floor, or the other boy’s fists stilling as his mouth flowered into a maw of teeth and torn flesh… sometimes, however, he did nothing. He lay there, on the Byer’s floor with Billy on top of him but-but he just sat there. Staring down at Steve with those blue eyes he’d seen so many times before. Real Billy had no concept of personal space, so the fact that dream Billy just sat so still, so lacking his usual predatory vitality was… more unnerving than anything._

_Those dreams were the ones that had him waking cold, none of that rapid heartbeat and sweat-drenched skin that the violent dreams left him. Steve would just wake cold, with something wrong simmering deep down in his stomach and a chill creeping up his spine. He’d spend the rest of the day looking over his shoulder, watching, waiting… for Billy._

August 1985 – a month after Starcourt

He’d brought the jacket with him, tucked it safely under the driver’s seat of his car after cleaning the floor with some might say an obsessive dedication – but he had to protect the leather; protect what was left of Billy. Now, sat in the video store and staring at the stationary vehicle, he regretted bringing it. Steve didn’t want to leave the jacket alone, but then he couldn’t bring it into the store without encountering some weird looks. Come autumn he could probably get away with wearing it, plenty of people wore thick, stylish leather jackets that brought out the width of their shoulders and contrasted – no.

Steve shook his head, he really needed to stop thinking about Billy like that. It wasn’t fair… to either of them.

Something soft bounced off his hair, he heaved a sigh, “yes Robin?”

She smirked from her place across the counter, eyes bright and smile crooked. “You’re looking pretty intently at that car there, my man. Love it that much?”

“Yeah Robin, 10 feet is just too far for me.”

She snorted as she came around the counter, sitting beside him with that ease that happened between them – it was always so easy with her. “Well, if the longing gets too much and you rush out there, warn me first. There’s some things I’m too young to see.”

“Hilarious.”

“Steve,” when he looks back at her, Robin’s face is suddenly serious. The intelligence everyone around him seems to possess, everyone but him, a cruel voice whispers, is clear in the intensity in her gaze. “Are you ok?”

His heart stutters, “what?”

“You just seem… tired.” Even he can see that’s not what she wants to say, but Robin’s tactful, and a hell of a lot kinder than Nancy when it comes to people’s troubles.

He dreamed of Billy again last night; the old dream, of fight night. The one where Billy just sits and looks down at him, arms still and totally silent. Steve couldn’t feel the heat of him, just the overwhelming crush of another body on top of his. Billy’s eyes were blue… at first. Then the dark slithered in, veins black and crawling from his eyes down under his shirt and along his arms; but still he just sat there, looking at Steve like – like he wanted to eat him whole.

“Steve?”

Steve blinked, Robin had closed in, frowning in worry. “Sorry.”

That didn’t ease her expression, “what’s going on with you?”

He swallowed, but the lump in his throat remained. “What do you mean?”

“You just seem…”

“Tired?”

“Yeah, tired.”

Steve shrugged, “I’m not sleeping great is all, no big deal.”

Robin’s frown deepened, “if you need to talk, I’m right here.”

“Do you need to talk?”

“This isn’t about me Steve.”

“It’s not about me either.”

“Steve-”

“We all went through this.”

“I know, but…”

“What?”

“Billy was your friend.”

He froze, heart pounding loudly, anger welling up inside. “He was Max’s brother.”

“And she has people to talk to, people to mourn with her. But you-”

“We weren’t even friends-”

“Really. So all those times he came into Scoops was just for the free samples.”

“Probably.”

“Then why did he look at you like-”

“Like what Robin?”

“Like he wanted to eat you whole.”

The blood was rushing in his ears, drowning out the sound of Robin calling him back as he rushed out of the store and to his car. He threw himself behind the wheel, locking the door and trapping him in the humid, sticky heat of the car. With shaking fingers Steve reached under his seat, touching the warm leather where it lay safe and undisturbed. He let out a ragged breath, tension spilling from his muscles as he pulled the jacket up onto his lap, reverently running his hands across its soft surface.

She doesn’t know, she can’t. Robin had always made comments when Billy came into the store, a smile delighting her face at their aggressive back and forth. Why would she assume… but then of course she would. She’s the only one he knows who would think that, being that way inclined herself. And then there was Max… Max who must have seen something. Whether it was from him or Billy though – and he couldn’t exactly ask her. ‘Hey Max, did you give me your recently deceased brother’s jacket because you think we were friends or that I wanted him… or did he want me?’ Steve’s heart skipped a beat, did Billy want him?

He clutched the jacket tighter; what did it matter now? Billy was gone; he died scared and in pain and trying to save a girl who’d wandered around his head and seen the secrets he hoarded so closely in himself. And Steve, Steve wasn’t in there – he wasn’t a secret Billy kept with him. He was nothing to him really; a distraction, a one-time punching bag, a source of free ice cream – nothing of importance. He’d probably be pissed Steve had that damn jacket, but Steve held the leather all the tighter for it.

Suddenly his car radio came to life, a familiar tune warbling out into the sticky space of the car.

_“Jeez, who picks the tunes in here Princess?”_

_“Hey, note the attire Hargrove.”_

_“Sorry, who pick the tunes in here,_ Captain _Princess.”_

_“It’s the radio man, and don’t pretend you don’t like this song.”_

_“I don’t.”_

_“Liar, everyone loves The Whole of the Moon, it’s a modern classic.”_

_“Talking out your ass again Harrington? Just stick to the ice cream and let the real aficionados handle the music.”_

After that Billy had tried to ‘educate’ Steve on his music tastes; it hadn’t gone too well. So, Steve liked Duran Duran and Wham! Who didn’t like Wham!? Everyone except Billy, apparently. That Waterboys’ song though, Billy liked it; it was on so often that Steve had caught the other mouthing along to the words whenever it was on in the store. Once, him and Steve even sung along together, Billy was drunk and Steve was tired and they were both feeling a little stupid… the sorrow tugged at him again. He felt heavy, fingers a vice around the leather still in his lap as he mumbled along to the radio,

“I wandered out in the world for years,

While you just stayed in your room.

I saw the crescent,

You saw the whole of the moon.

The whole of the moon…” His voice was weak, struggling over the words he knew till eventually, he gave up. Sat there in silence, Billy’s jacket pulled tight against his chest, Steve let the stillness wash over him. He knew he’d have to get out soon; face Robin, talk to the party and Hopper and one day maybe even his parents. But until then, he’d sit here in his car, with all of Billy he could get.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter ended up being shorter than I had hoped, however, I wanted to get something up before I went away for the weekend so here it is!  
> Just a little more lead up, but we'll start getting into some proper plot from the next chapter onwards, so there's just a tease of it here.  
> Also - I'm not American and I'm trying to make sure not to drop any English slang or sayings in there, but if I do please let me know and I'll fix it ASAP!  
> Hope you like, and remember, your comments are always appreciated.

_November 1984, one week after fight night_

_Hargrove’s face looks… bad. Steve didn’t do that, did he? He doesn’t remember doing it. He thinks he maybe got one or two good hits in before that ass whacked him over the head with – something. He vaguely recalls Dustin telling him what it was, but the memory keeps fading out, like a bleached picture in the sun. Billy’s presence is like that, the sun; so bright and intense it burns everything out of you till all that’s left is him. Even with his face a little worse for wear, better than Steve’s was but not better than it is now, he’s still a presence amongst everyone else._

_Steve zeros in on him as soon as he enters the school, like a prey animal looking out for the predator. Max mentioned something about his nail bat and Billy’s balls, though that’s fuzzy too; either way, she assured him Billy had been keeping out of their way. Still, he couldn’t help but keep a wary eye on the blonde menace, with or without a busted face of his own._

_Steve wanted to keep his head down, stay out of Billy’s way – but then he didn’t account for Tommy freaking H._

_“Yo Harrington, who painted your face, huh?” That little ginger dick was smirking at him, Carol giving him an unimpressed once over as she leant against the lockers beside him. Tommy snorted, “had to hide out in that big empty house of yours for a whole week; what, too embarrassed to admit you’re got your ass handed to you again?”_

_Steve didn’t respond, and Billy kept his attention firmly on the contents of his locker. Maybe Max was right?_

_But then Carol had to speak up, “was he the one you got in a fight with Billy?”_

_Billy slammed his locker shut, snorting derisively. “As if that princess would last five minutes against me.” The sound of Billy’s voice warbled up his spine, deep and drawling as it always was; but there was something tighter to it than there had been. “I’d lay him out before he got a look in.” Flashes of Billy astride him, fists flying and mouth wide and screaming as they connected over and over again, blood erupting from his lips and nose, the crunch of his cheekbone and Billy’s knuckles –_

_“What’s wrong princess, nothing to say?” Freaking Tommy, that would be it now, he’d be princess fucking Harrington till Billy deigned to give him a new nickname; god knows Tommy couldn’t think of one himself. Letting his locker softly shut, Steve headed to class – towards the three of them. Billy was looking at him with an unreadable expression, Carol chewed her gum as usual with those eyes that saw nothing, or maybe everything, and Tommy still had that fucking grin on his face. “Huh princess, something to say.”_

_Steve stopped beside Tommy, looking down at him with a blank expression. “You’re a lot smaller than Billy.” He walked on, smiling to himself at Tommy’s sputtering indignation._

_He was pretty damn sure Billy laughed._

August 1985

“Steve, dude, what’s up with you?”

“Huh?” He turned to where Dustin was sat in the passenger seat, staring at Steve intently like he was something under a microscope. “Sorry, did I miss something?”

Dustin let out an exasperated sigh before continuing to wax lyrical about Suzie and their interstate love affair; apparently, it was very Shakespearean. Steve tried to pay attention, but there was only so much he could take on a good day, and the amount of sleep he’d been managing since… even his hair felt heavy. Plus, Dustin had been particularly attentive lately, almost as if he was singlehandedly trying to make sure Steve was never alone. It was a valiant effort on his part, and Robin’s, and possibly Nancy and Jonathan’s, but if he was lonely it was nothing new. Why any of them should notice now and try to do something about it he wasn’t sure. The only ones of the party who seemed to really notice how he was feeling were Max and El, the former of who was busy with her own grief. El however – he tried to avoid. Which wasn’t fair on her, but she kept giving him looks that scraped off his skin and Steve wasn’t in the mind frame to deal with that.

“So, you in?”

Crap, “uh, sure.”

“Awesome! Do you want me to tell El or will you do it when we get to the Will’s?”

Damn, he should really listen a bit more. “El?”

“Well, yeah. I guess you could tell Hopper or Mrs Byers, but El invited you so-”

Oh, that’s right, El’s birthday. It was going to be her first birthday party; her first proper birthday really – and she wanted him to go. “Right, right. When is it again?”

“This Saturday, so you’ve still got time to get her something really cool. I got her Fantasia on video, some might say it’s for little kids, buts its experimental animation set to a backdrop of some of histories best classical composers! What’s not to love. Do you think she’ll like it?”

“Yeah dude, I think she will.” He had to hand it to the kid, he was pretty damn thoughtful when he wanted to be. And maybe the party wouldn’t be so bad, there would be plenty of them there and Steve could go, give El her gift, eat some cake and leave. He nodded, that’s it, it’ll be fine. “Sounds good buddy, I’ll look for her gift on my day off on tomorrow.”

They pulled up to the Byers, Hopper’s jeep in the drive beside Jonathan’s and Mrs Byers – they were all there. Steve swallowed; fingers tight around the steering wheel.

“Ok, here you are buddy, let me know if you need picking up, ok?”

“You should come in.”

He looked at Dustin again, that same look that had been on Robin’s face yesterday was on his now. Some sort of understanding of something Steve didn’t remember telling him in the first place. “I’ve got plans.”

“Doing what?”

Steve sat a little straighter, the presence of the jacket yelling at him from its hiding place. “Just, you know…” he trailed off, not even the energy to think of a lie.

“You should come in; you can tell El that you’re coming to her birthday. And Mrs Byers was asking about you the other day.”

“I don’t-”

“And Max would like to see you.”

Steve froze, “Max?”

As Dustin opened his mouth to answer Steve’s radio burst into life, _Wango Tango_ blasting out at a volume he definitely didn’t remember cranking it up to. He slammed the power button, scowling.

“Sorry, I think there’s something wrong with it, did that yesterday too.”

Dustin scowled, staring at the offending piece of equipment. “I could take a look at it?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it bud.”

“Didn’t know you liked that type of music.” He didn’t, not on his own anyway. It was on a mixtape from Billy – _‘your musical education begins, pretty boy.’_

“I uh, it’s just the radio. Come on, they’re all waiting.”

“You’re coming in?” Dustin beamed at him, and however much Steve might want to go home and get high with the jacket across his shoulders, he couldn’t disappoint the kid.

“Sure Dustin, I’ll come in. But I’m not playing D&D.”

It turned out to be a pointless statement, seeing as they were all getting together to have dinner and watch movies anyway. Mrs Byers looked oddly happy to see him, her worn and caring eyes taking him in so completely.

“Steve, honey, I’m so glad you came. We haven’t seen you for a while.”

“Hi Mrs Byers, are you sure it’s ok if I stay for dinner?”

“Of course, it is sweetie, there’s plenty to go around.”

“Harrington.” Hopper’s voice rumbled out from the kitchen, where he was leant against the counter running an appraising eye over Steve.

“Chief.” Steve hurried after Dustin, soon assaulted with the voices of the whole squad, even El smiled as he came in.

“Hey El, Steve says he’s coming to your birthday!” Dustin shouted across the room, arms flailing as he crashed into the party.

El smiled at him, looking as young as she really was for a change, and Steve felt his heart clench. “I am glad.”

Once dinner was all laid out, they took space wherever it was to be found and Steve ended up between El and Nancy, of all people. Luckily El was distracted by Mike and Nancy by Jonathan on their respective other sides, so he picked at his food in peace; for a few moments at least.

“I haven’t seen you in a while, Steve.”

He looked up to find Nancy staring at him with those big eyes of hers, locked onto his face like he was a puzzle she’d already solved. He could never figure out if she meant it or not, but even before they broke up, she somehow always made him feel… simple. Like he was a doodle by a third-grader whilst she was an impressionist painting; maybe the only thing with any depth to him was his hair.

“What have you been up to since…”

“Since Starcourt?”

“Yeah, you’re working at the record store?”

“The video store.”

“Right, the video store. With Rosie?”

“Robin.” She nodded as his correction as if she was taking it all in. She probably was, Nancy was good like that, whether she remembered once something more important came up was another question. “You?”

“I got a job with Hopper, just paperwork over summer. No actual police work or anything. You not hungry?” She gestured to his plate, where he’d been pushing his food back and forth for the last fifteen minutes.

“Oh, uh, I guess not.”

She frowned at him then, the natural inquisitiveness in her eyes – they really missed out on her instinct at that paper. “Are you doing ok?”

That damn question again, how many more people were going to ask him that? “Fine, same as usual.”

“Friends don’t lie.”

Steve startled, turning to find El staring intently at him, big dark eyes boring into his. The words caught in his throat, and he felt Nancy move closer beside him as she spoke. “What do you mean El?”

El was still gazing benignly at Steve, benign but intense. “Friends don’t lie.”

“El, I’m not-” he stuttered out, but she kept on.

“You are sad, it’s bad to hide; makes you sadder and sadder.”

Nancy piped up on his other side, “Steve?”

He shivered, “I’m fine.”

“Cold?” El said.

“Sorry?”

She smiled sadly, “do you want your jacket.”

Steve stood abruptly, nearly knocking Nancy and El from their places on the couch as his pulse thundered in his ears – _she knew_. He dropped his plate, food over the wood floor, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It looked so far away, all the others with their concerned faces and enquiring voices were further still. All that mattered was the jacket, sat out all alone in his car, waiting for him.

He managed to hash out some sort of wavering apology and farewell as he dashed out of the house, barely hearing the exclamations and questions that followed him. Hopper’s voice caught him last on the way out, just a low rumble of his name that rattled round his head and through his aching bones. It didn’t stop him though, and as he stumbled to his car door and tried to unlock it, another smaller voice gave him pause.

“She didn’t mean to upset you.” It was Max, soft but hard all at once, just like – he turned away, finally getting his car door open. “Please come back in.”

“I can’t, I… not tonight.”

“What did El say?”

He sighed; he wasn’t getting out of this conversation. Steve didn’t have the heart to leave her out on the doorstep alone. “She just knows how to cut the bullshit, you know?”

Max nodded, “yeah, she’s good at that.” After a pause she approached, hands twisting around themselves. “She’s been asking about you, about you and-” she shut her mouth abruptly, but he knew what she was going to say; who she was going to say.

“Did you tell her about the jacket?”

“She was with me when I found it in his room, we decided together.”

“To give it to me?”

“When she looked for him before, she saw some of his memories. Mostly bad but – but some were good.”

“Ok?” He wasn’t sure where this was going, surely none of their pissing matches in Scoops meant enough to Billy to show Eleven?

“El said you were there, not like a memory but. A, uh, more like a feeling? Like the image of you made him happy or – or something? She explains it better than me. Besides,” she gave him a light shove, and to his dismay, he actually stumbled a little. “I knew he liked you, he never ate ice cream back in California.”

He never – “he didn’t?”

Max shook her head, laughing at the stunned expression on his face. “Not really. You sure you don’t want to come back in?”

He shook his head, “not tonight. I just need a bit of space.” He looked back at the house and snorted, five faces pressed against the window staring at them both. “Tell the shrunken heads I’ll be at the party Saturday like I said.”

“Ok, see you around Steve. Call me if… you know.”

He nodded, “sure Max. Tell El I’m not mad, ok?”

He saw her head back into the house as he drove off, the jacket across his lap like a comfort blanket. Hell, maybe that’s what it was becoming; what would Billy say to that? After a few minutes of silence, his radio sprung to life once again, _Wango Tango_ blasting out and disturbing the peace he was trying so hard to wrap around himself.

“Goddamnit.” He slammed the eject button on the cassette player, but nothing emerged. Frowning he pushed his fingers into the tape slot – it was empty. “What the hell?” He turned the volume control, pushed the channel buttons, pushed the power button but still it continued to blare out at him.

_“It’s kind of…”_

_“What Harrington?”_

_“Intense?”_

_“It’s Nugent princess, it’s metal. Its meant to be intense.”_

Suddenly the music cut out, static buzzing blankly as Steve’s eyes flicked back and forth between the road and the hissing radio. His heart was beating along to the music, wicked and rowdy against his ribcage; his bones felt hollow, too fragile to hold the raging organ back. Then, quiet but clear above the white noise, came a voice –

“Steve.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this chapter took so long, but sometimes real life appears and kicks you squarely in the chest every now and then.  
> Hopefully, this will make up for it; more people get involved and, most importantly, some proper storyline will rock up next chapter.  
> Also, it's El's birthday.

Steve turned every light on in his house, illuminating the place and blasting out all the shadows. His ears were ringing, all the way home the radio had been silent since… since his voice. Since –

“No. No, it wasn’t him. You’re imagining things, Harrington.” His voice was as shaky as his nerves, tripping and stumbling over his feelings and his own feet. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t have been; Billy’s gone. “He’s gone, he’s gone…” and no amount of sleep deprivation was going to bring him back.

He walked through the lighted rooms; once, again, and again and again; each time studying the lights for any sign of flickering or unsteady glow. Eventually, on his fifth pass through the downstairs entrance hall, his shaking legs finally gave in. He hit the carpet hard, wincing at the force reverberating up his knees. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he stared at his legs, trembling even as they lay motionless across the carpet, the ache spreading up his spine - “I’m so fucked.”

Steve dreams he’s by the pool. Steve hates the pool. He knows it’s a dream because it’s night and the moon is full, but he’s not feeling sticky or gross like he has been for the last month. But he’s still tired, so damn tired. The pool is steaming, surface undisturbed by any movement – there’s no wind. No noise. He can’t even hear his heart beating; maybe it stopped? It’s been so long since he felt rested that maybe it finally gave out, just like his effort to feel better, just like his parents, just like Barb’s life. _Christ_ , he hates the pool.

Across Barb’s grave he sees the trees, empty and looming like a forest of waiting demogorgans. Were there trees in the upside-down? Nancy said something about going through a tree once, she must have crawled out of one on the other side but… it didn’t seem right. As tall and imposing as they were in the silence, trees were good, weren’t they? They were good things that hid bad things sometimes. He was probably being simple again; simple Steve, can’t even keep up with a bunch of kids. Even Tommy and Carol used to look at each other when he’d say something confused or idiotic. They thought he didn’t see, but Steve saw. He always saw, he just didn’t… understand. They weren’t bad friends really, not to him most of the time, despite how they were with everyone else. He probably didn’t deserve them, he definitely didn’t deserve Nancy – Nancy and her pity when he didn’t know the answer, with her indulgent smile that got smaller and smaller till it vanished just like Tommy and Carol’s voices in his life. 

Billy didn’t see it though. Or maybe he did, and he didn’t care.

“Steve?” The static was gone, but he knew that voice. He looked around, but all was still and quiet – “Steve.”

He looked down at the steaming surface of the water, a solid, brightly lit mirror in the night. His legs were heavy, unwilling to move, but he managed to force his aching limbs to inch towards the lip of the pool. His tongue was thick and dry, voice unwilling and mouth unable.

“Steve.” It was just him, his reflection, staring back with sallow skin and dark circles like bruises under his eyes. Disappointment warred with relief as he stared down at himself, but then that voice came from his own mouth – “Steve.”

He woke to a rapidly beating heart and sweat coating every inch of his skin – Billy’s voice spilling over his lips. Taking in deep, pained gasps of air Steve clumsily crawled from his bed, tumbling to the floor as his legs refused to hold him up.

“Goddamnit.” The clock on his nightstand blinked 8.42 at him, but he couldn’t remember when he’d gone to sleep, or even getting up from the floor downstairs and making it up to his room. Jesus, he really was losing his mind. He peeled off his soaked shirt, throwing it somewhere and turning his gaze to the bedroom door. The lights were still on, all of them, he could practically feel his father’s rage at the electric bill already. He had started paying rent since not getting into college, or in his case not applying, not that anyone else knew that. It was easier to say he’d been rejected than explain that he didn’t bother because he knew that would be the outcome. Surely his parents should be used to him being a disappointment by now – god, he was uncomfortable. Grimacing he shook off his thoughts, stood on shaking legs and managed to wobble towards the bathroom, turning off lights as he went.

When he finally reaches the bathroom, he doesn’t look in the mirror, seeing Billy’s voice spilling from his own mouth was enough to eclipse even the fear of how haggard he knew he must look. He cranks the shower up high, stepping beneath the scalding water and letting out a heavy sigh as it knocks into his muscles and bullies out some of the tension.

_Pretty boy like you got nothing to worry about._

“Stop it.”

_Plenty more bitches in the sea_.

“Leave me alone Billy. Please, leave me alone.”

Somehow, someway, it's like his subconscious listens; he manages to make it through the next few days without having some sort of nervous breakdown or panic attack. He dreams; god does he dream, possibly more than he actually sleeps. He dreams of the upside-down, of the pool, of the demodogs and that disembodied voice coming out of every mouth except Billy’s. But he doesn’t dream of Billy; not anymore. His voice and his presence abound, but he doesn’t see him. Fight night is a long distant memory that refuses to show up in his subconscious, run-ins at school or their increasingly intense back and forth over the summer exist like smoke in his sleep – but they don’t replay; and he doesn’t see Billy.

By the time El’s birthday rolls around he’s managed to convince himself that the radio and the voice whispering his name was just a consequence of his severely fucked up sleeping pattern. He’s still not got it under control, and everyone keeps looking at him like he’s too delicate to touch but too fragile to be left alone. He’s not looking forward to tonight, Dustin and Nancy won’t hesitate to interrogate him once the chance presents itself, Robin will mental-ninja him and learn something he doesn’t want her to, and Max… she knows enough already.

For once he doesn’t have to pick up a child on the way to the Byers’, so he drives in relative peace on the way, El’s gift wrapped on the passenger seat beside him. In the end, he got her Blondie’s _Parallel Lines_ and _The Game_ by Queen. They might be odd choices but he loves them and Max had mentioned El was listening to pretty much anything she could get her hands on, so why not start her off with the good stuff?

As he’s turning the bend to the Byers’ his radio crackles to life, a cold sweat breaking out as the opening notes of _Help Me Make it Through the Night_ filled his car…

_“Steve, what the hell is this?”_

_“Did you just call me Steve?”_

_“That’s how aghast I am at this situation.”_

_“Wow, your vocabulary is really working overtime tonight huh?”_

_“First off Princess, I get As in English. Second, you just put on reggae.”_

_“Excuse you, this is John Holt. And what, you don’t like reggae?”_

_“Who are you right now? How have you even heard this music?”_

_“It’s my mom’s dirty secret – she loves Bob Marley. And you know what, Billy Boy?”_

_“What baby?”_

_“I like him too.”_

The car rolled to a stop and he sat, staring at the house as John Holt crooned away, breath coming short and sharp and painful. Steve put his hand under his seat, fingers finding well-known leather.

“I can’t handle this right now Billy, I have a party to go to.” Holt sang on, but the tremors in his hands began to lessen. Steve took a deep breath, pulling the jacket from its hiding place. He ran his fingers along its seams, heat rate settling along to the gentle cadence of the song. “How about this, I’ll take you in with me, ok?” If any of the others could see him now, swaying to some light reggae and talking to a dead boy’s coat – maybe the looks they were giving him were warranted after all. “I’ll take you in with me, and you don’t give me any more surprises tonight, ok?”

It felt good, giving in to the longing in his head, slipping on the jacket and feeling Billy settle over him. This one-sided conversation couldn’t be healthy, but the weight of the leather and the faintly lingering scent of cigarette’s and Billy crushed all his worries. Damn – maybe he should start sleeping in the thing. Picking up El’s presents he pulled the keys from the ignition, only noting the now silent radio as he pushed the door shut.

The door to the house flung open before he fully got up the steps, El smiling at him with a pink and blue striped party hat on her head.

“Steve, it is my birthday.”

“Yeah El, happy birthday.”

“There is cake and games and I am excited for both.”

The smile she brought out of him felt foreign but welcomed, and he happily followed her into the house. However, the happy glances silenced when they all turned to him.

“Uh, hi guys.”

“Steve is here, time for cake.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to wait for me-”

“Is that Hargrove’s jacket?” Nancy had that face on, the sort of pinched one where it looked a bit like she had either sucked on a lemon or was frantically trying to measure her words.

“Yeah.”

“Steve, dude, why are you wearing it?” Dustin looked a bit like he wanted to douse Steve in holy water, or whatever the D&D equivalent was.

Robin elbowed him, "he can wear it if he wants Henderson."

Before Steve could answer, Max appeared by his side; as though she and El were flanking him. “I gave it to him.”

Nancy spluttered, “you what?”

Everyone was arguing while his mind was still trying to formulate a response, Max particularly vehement in her rebuttals to Nancy. El was silent beside him, and the guilt at running her birthday was abruptly overwhelming.

“Steve.”

He looked down, but El was staring at the others as they continued to yell. Who –

“Steve.”

Something warm trickled down onto his lower lip, he wiped at it and his fingers came away stained red.

“See...Steve.” When he looked up everyone was silent, staring at the side of the room, where the radio sat emanating static. “Need...Steve.”

A small hand found his, tugging on his bloody fingers. He looked at El again, who was frowning behind him, hat still on her head. Steve turned but saw nothing – the tang of blood sharp on the tip of his tongue. As black crept in from the edge of his vision, he heard it again. “Steve.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The muse hath taken me!  
> I'm not sure what happened but this chapter flew by, and I'm actually pretty happy with it.  
> This story changed quite a lot even in these 3 chapters. Originally the others weren't going to believe Steve and he was going to suffer alone for a fair bit longer, but then I realised it didn't make too much sense in terms of this story. Plus I want to reunite Harringrove and Billy & Max sooner rather than later.  
> So, please enjoy and, once again, let me know if I come across to English or whatever. I'm trying hard to make sure it sounds American but you never know.  
> So my stance on Carol and Tommy has changed recently, I think they probably aren't as shitty as a lot of people think and I wanted to sort of layer them a bit.  
> ALSO! TW for the use of a homophobic slur, it's just in passing by a character who is using it more in a casual manner than a derogatory one, but thought i'd warn you all anyway.  
> Thanks, and please read your hearts out.

_December 1984 - A month after fight night_

_“So, what, he got a magical dick or something?” Steve blinked slow, turning his gaze to where Billy had sat himself and his heavily laden tray across the formerly empty lunch table._

_“Um, what?”_

_“Byers.”_

_Steve frowned, casting a furtive glance at Jonathan and Nancy, sat whispering together at their own table across the packed cafeteria. The pang that should have been there… wasn’t. “What about him?”_

_Billy smirked, “he got a magic dick?”_

_“I don’t really know where this conversation is going.”_

_“He must do, right? I mean, he’s not what most sane people would call a looker.”_

_“He’s a perv too,” Carol said as she slid beside Steve, holding a can of coke and smiling with the left of her mouth like always. “Took pictures of Stevie and Wheeler screwing.”_

_“Really?” Billy was grinning like all his dreams had come true._

_Carol nodded, “yeah.”_

_“You know the main question here though, right?” Billy had that wolf look on his face, the same one he’d had on fight night, only Steve maybe didn’t hate being on the menu._

_He took a sip of coke to hid his own grin, “what’s that Hargrove?”_

_“Was he taking the pics of her, or you?”_

_“Nah,” Carol replied, “he’s not interesting enough to be a queer. Just a run of the mill pervert.”_

_“So dull, creepy, and a face like a wet fish? Explain to me why she’d pick him over you, Harrington.”_

_That hurt, even if Billy didn’t mean it to. Or maybe he did mean it to; the guy had sharp teeth. Steve swallowed, “I don’t know, I guess I’m just bullshit.”_

_“She tell you that?” Tommy appeared, putting himself and his food next to Billy, a frown on his freckled face. Steve just shrugged, “Was this before or after she started boning Byers?”_

_“Can I just,” Steve paused, looking at the three of them. “What exactly is happening here?”_

_“Gee, I don’t know Steve, maybe a conversation?” Tommy laughed, throwing a fry at Carol._

_“Between you and me?”_

_“Yeah, why not?” Carol replied, popping her gum and nudging him in the shoulder. “We had you first Stevie.”_

_Steve looked at Billy, who was staring intently at him while taking bites from an overloaded sandwich. “How about you, what’s your excuse?”_

_Billy smirked at him again, blue of his eyes twinkling so bright Steve felt it spark something in his gut. “I just don’t like seeing Princesses eat all alone.”_

August 1985 – 5 weeks after Starcourt

Someone is stroking his hair; small fingers running through it soft as a feather.

He can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this – touched him at all. There was murmuring too, hushed voices all around him. He kept hearing his name, faint and frightening, from different mouths.

“He’ll wake up, right?” That was Dustin, he’d recognised that lisping, caring tone of voice even when out of his mind on Russian psychedelics.

“Sure he will, Steve’s had worse than this.” Robin, sombre like all those times she’d questioned how he was; spoke words lighter than her tone could carry.

“Yeah, but usually the nosebleed is from a punch, not…”

“A dead guy’s voice in a radio?” Silence fell at Mike’s outburst; it wasn’t making him want to open his eyes. His eyelids were damn heavy, and Mike was locking them shut. “Come on, it’s what we’re all thinking.”

“No, it’s not asshole.” That was Max, and she sounded close by. She wouldn’t be stroking his hair, right? That’d be weird, and pretty damn gentle for her.

“Come on Max, he didn’t mean-”

“No Lucas, he doesn’t get to say that.”

Mike cut in, “even if it’s the truth?”

“Don’t call him the dead guy, my brother is not the dead guy. He’s Billy; he’s Billy and we all heard his voice.”

“We heard _a_ voice, not necsarrily-” if Steve weren’t so exhausted, he’d of laughed at the way Lucas abruptly shut up; he could imagine the look Max had given him.

“It was Billy.”

Will spoke, “it did sound like Billy.”

“Guys, come on,” Mike cut in. “It was a voice, covered in static saying the same thing over and over.”

“Saying Steve.”

“What?” Max growled, “he was saying, Steve.”

“So.”

“So, if it was saying Steve than it was Billy.”

“You can’t know that for sure Max,” Lucas replied.

“Why would the voice – Billy, be asking for Steve anyway, they weren’t friends. They barely spoke-”

“They spoke all the time.” Damn, Steve had almost forgotten Robin was there. She’d had a front-row seat to the Billy & Steve show all summer. “Billy came into Scoops almost every day, riling Steve up and _not_ buying ice cream.”

“What the hell Max, I thought you scared him off? Why was he still hassling Steve?” Poor Dustin, still coming to his defence; too bad he didn’t know how little Steve wanted protecting.

“He wasn’t hassling him, doofus.” Max said, “Billy liked Steve.”

“What, like, they were secret friends? Why wouldn’t he tell us?”

Robin replied, “friends might not be the right word.”

 _Shit, time to wake up_. “Can you guys keep it down? I’ve got the hangover from hell.”

“Steve!” The number of people looming over him was enough to send his head spinning, and only the small hand carding through his hair kept him grounded, _who…_ He blinked slowly, vision clearing on a young, pale face beside his. “El?”

“Are you ok?”

“Um, yeah, I think.”

Will crouched beside her, “my mom and chief Hopper should be back any minute.”

“You called them?”

“We were worried, and they wouldn’t have been much longer anyway. They already got the cake.”

“The last stop on a cake run, way to make a guy feel special.” He moved to sit up, but about four sets of hands were there to push him back down again.

“Lay down dingus.”

“Mom said you should stay still.”

“I don’t need-”

“You were haemorrhaging from your nose.”

“Thanks for the visual Dustin.”

“It’s what happened dude, it was like a river.”

The front door opened, and their conversation cut abruptly as the imposing figure of Chief Hopper and the frantic, lightning bug energy of Ms Byers appeared. The kids parted like the red sea as the two of then beelined for Steve – this wall a hell of a lot of attention all of a sudden. As achy and unpleasant a feeling it was, at least he finally knew he wasn’t going crazy; they all heard Billy too.

“Hey, what happened, are you ok sweetie?” Joyce was one of the mothers he saw from a distance, someone whose love looked overwhelming even as everyone else basked in it. His mother was far more the occasional parent; she’d look at him like a stranger whenever she did appear, but that’s probably what they were to each other. He didn’t blame her though. There were so many different women out there in the world, it was narrow-minded to think they were all born to be mothers.

“I’m ok Ms Byres-”

“He collapsed and his nose was bleeding really bad and we heard Billy-”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Hopper held up his hands, staring down at Steve with a look like a tired, exasperated bear. If it weren’t directed at him, he might have laughed. “El, what happened?”

Steve bristled, “I can-”

“No offence kid, but your pupils are different sizes and you pastier than Callahan’s ass.”

“Gee thanks.”

“El, tell me what happened. No interruptions.” The last part he aimed at the rest of the kids and Robin, who had the gall to look affronted. “Go ahead El.”

“Steve came to the party; I was excited because you were coming back with cake and we were going to play games.” She had that serious little look on her face, every word was quiet and grave like it was the most important information in the world. It felt… sweet, to know he came under the things she cared about. “When he got here, the boys all got angry that Steve was wearing Billy’s jacket-”

“We weren’t angry-”

“Henderson, what did I say about interruptions?”

With the kids once again cowed, El went on, “Steve has been very tired and sad since Starcourt, but he was happier with the jacket on, so I thought it was good that he is wearing it.” He opened his mouth to interject, but Hopper’s expression quelled that instantly. He took it back, El’s attention was like Billy’s, fire and light and noise – his skin was too damaged to bear it again.

“Everyone was arguing, and then Steve’s nose started bleeding and Billy called for him from the radio. And then he fainted.”

“Ok, first things first.” Hopper turned his attention back to Steve, scrutinising his prone figure. “You ok kid? Not about to pass out again, start bleeding randomly?”

Steve finally sat up, Ms Byers’ hands firm against his back. “I think I’m good for now.”

“You really don’t look fine,” Ms Byer’s ran the back of her hand across his forehead as she spoke, “you’re pretty warm too.”

“I’m really ok Ms Byers.”

“Joyce honey, after everything I think you can call me Joyce.” She smiled at him, running her hand across his face again. “I’m going to take your temperature sweetie.” With that she fluttered out of the room, leaving him with a still frowning Hopper and the worried faces of the kids.

The chief cleared his throat, “so, you say you heard Billy. As in Hargrove? As in-”

“Formerly flayed and dead?” Mike proclaimed, ignoring the other’s rebuttals. “Exactly, it wasn’t him.”

“It was him.” The room fell silent again, all turning to El. She was getting really damn good at dropping bombs.

“How do you know that kid?” Hopper asked.

“I saw him, behind Steve, when he was calling.”

Bile crawled up Steve’s throat, whether from fear or excitement he couldn’t tell. He swallowed it down, choking on his own nerves. He wasn’t crazy, if El saw him then Steve wasn’t crazy. And Billy… Billy wasn’t –

“You saw him?” Max took El’s hand, eyes big and watery. “He’s alive? Billy’s alive?”

El nodded, “I do not see the dead. Billy is alive, and he is trying to get to Steve.”

“Why?” Hopper replied, “no offence Harrington, but why would he be calling to you?”

Steve paused, at a loss. “I don’t… I’m not sure. I kind of just thought I was going crazy.”

“Wait, going? This has been going on?” Robin squinted at him, arms crossed and puzzle-solving face on.

“The radio in your car.” Dustin clicked his fingers as he spoke, pointing from Steve to El to Hopper. “You said it’s developed a life of its own.” Steve could only nod, suddenly remembering just how freaking tired he really was.

He slumped back in the couch, snuffing into the collar of Billy’s jacket. Someone had left it on him, probably Max or El; or maybe it had been too difficult to get him out of it. Nancy had once said he was oddly detached in his sleep, didn’t like to cuddle or touch too much. He wasn’t sure if he believed that, no matter how weird a thing it would be to lie about. He’d had a bear when he was younger, a gift from his nana before she’d died; this little grey thing with a tartan bow tie that he hugged till some of the fur had begun to wear away. When he was about seven his father had decided _real men didn’t sleep with stuffed animals_. The bears name was Jude, like the Beatles song; Steve’s first nanny, Steph, used to sing _Hey Jude_ to him when he couldn’t sleep. But then his father had taken Jude away, and Steph had been dismissed not long after. Too old for a bear, too old for a nanny, too old for parents pretty close on its heels. Too old for comfort or affection or –

_Ah, now I don’t hardly know her_

Was that…

_But I think I could love her_

_Crimson and clover_

It was quiet, hidden under the others as they talked about him, around him, for him, but it was there. The radio was alive again; with one of their songs.

_Ah, now when she comes walkin’ over_

_Now I’ve been waiting to show her_

_Crimson and clover_

“Um, can anyone else hear that?” Robin was staring at him pointedly, pretty soon so was everyone else. He couldn’t take any more fucking attention, not tonight. “Steve?”

“I can’t deal with this right now.”

“He’s not trying to hurt you,” El said, serious and sure.

_Yeah, I’m not such a sweet thing_

_I wanna do everything_

_What a beautiful feeling_

“You sure about that El?”

“He’s just trying to talk to you.”

_Crimson and clover, over and over_

“Why me? Why not you or Max?” His head was throbbing.

_Crimson and clover, over and over_

“It has to be you, he wants it to be you.” Was his nose bleeding again? He was starting to feel real freaking woozy.

_Crimson and clover, over and over_

“Why?” That song needs to stop.

“Because it’s you.”

_Crimson and clover, over and over_

“Billy seriously, can you stop with the fucking song!” Silence reigned, the radio emitting nothing but soft static. Steve took a deep breath, the buzzing in his head finally receding and the metallic smell dissipating.

Then, Billy’s voice clear as day from the tiny speakers of the Byers’ stereo, “sorry Princess.”

Hopper lit his cigarette, shaking his head, “well damn.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And behold another chapter. This one has a little more story although I feel like very little happens? You guys will have to let me know.  
> Also, I'm toying over whether or not I should shift POVs, introduce either Billy's or maybe even Max's? Let me know what you guys think. I do like the idea of it being strictly from Steve's POV, but then I don't know if i'm missing things by doing that...
> 
> Also, I thought i'd list out the songs mentioned so far at the end of this chapter in case anyone is interested.
> 
> Enjoy!

_There’s a dark place in Steve’s mind, at the bottom of this gradual slope, and he slips down it by inches every day. Sometimes he realises, snaps to attention halfway down and crawls his way back up with distractions, using other people’s voices like a rope. Other times though, his bad thoughts take him by the hand so soft and sweet he doesn’t realise he’s not looking where he’s going. He’d like to think he wasn’t prone to, what did his father call it, wallowing? But every now and then slipping down that slope is easy, and comforting, and feels… right; even if he knows it’s wrong._

_The irony is, that as abundant as the thoughts are that get him there – Billy and Nancy, the Upside Down, his parents and his constant, all-consuming loneliness – the place itself is empty. That dark place, dark space, is just that; a void where he goes to hide. Except right now, there’s someone standing in it._

_“Billy?”_

_“Hey, Steve.”_

_“Am I… asleep? Dreaming again?”_

_“Nah, you’re awake. Just, doing that thing you do.”_

_“What thing?”_

_Billy chuckled, the sound scorched across his nerves like a flashfire, and he was Steve again. Free, for a moment, of the dark, lonely exhaustion that had lay over him for so long. Free to just be Steve; Steve with Billy. “That thing, you know, where you zone everyone out and sort of,” Billy waved his hands, “float.”_

_“I do not float.”_

_“Whatever you say, Princess.”_

_He looked smaller than Steve remembered. Not small, his personality would never allow that, but he was thinner. There was less bulk to him, and his curls were long but lank. He wasn’t the Billy of Steve’s dreams or memories, wasn’t the rose-tinted figure he’d been conjuring; he was just Billy. Real, a little unkempt and uncared for, but –_

_“You’re alive.”_

_Billy nodded, “I know, crazy right.”_

_“How?”_

_“I’ll tell you soon, I promise. But I need your help first, ok?”_

_“My help?”_

_“Yeah, yours. If the others want to help…” he trailed off._

_Steve gulped, “is it dangerous?”_

_“Isn’t everything?”_

_“Billy.”_

_“Hopper, only Hopper. I don’t want anyone else involved. Do not tell Max. I don’t want to… get her hopes up.”_

_Steve nodded, he could understand that, but he was pretty sure El and Max had already come to their own conclusions. “What do you need me to do?”_

_Billy smiled, “not a hint of hesitation, huh princess?”_

_“You’re the one who needs rescuing Billy, pretty sure that makes you the princess now.”_

_“Hey, knights need rescuing sometimes too.”_

_“Billy-”_

_“Alright, alright.” Billy’s grin evaporated, and he moved in close, hands twitching at his side, Steve couldn’t help but wonder if the other boy wanted to reach out and touch as much as himself. “They’re moving me.”_

_“They?”_

_“The people who have me. The ones that saved me; although that’s not what I’d fucking call it.”_

_This close, Steve could see the scars peeking out of Billy’s collar, god only knows the mess that must be hidden under his shirt. Whoever had him, did they –_

_“Steve, focus, this is important.”_

_“Sorry.”_

_Billy sighed, eyes running over Steve’s face. “I’ve missed you, pretty boy. And I’ll show you how much real soon.”_

_Steve swallowed, “what do you need me to do?”_

_“Take a car, and park it out of sight off the bypass on route 32.” He nodded, that didn’t sound so bad. “Then drive there in a different car tomorrow night, at 11.10, and wait.”_

_“Wait?”_

_“For me, I’ll let you know what you need to do.”_

_“Gonna serenade me again Billy?”_

_Oh, there it was, that lupine smile. “Yeah Princess, I’ll play you a real nice song.”_

_Steve faltered, taking in the dark behind the other boy, the nothingness all around them. “Are we in that place El goes? Are you like her now?”_

_Billy hesitated, smile losing all its sharpness. “Not exactly.”_

_“You can’t go there, do what she does?”_

_“Not well.”_

_“But you’re here now.”_

_“Yeah, but that’s not… we aren’t in that place.”_

_“Then where are we?”_

_“My powers, or whatever you want to call them, they’re linked. To you.”_

_“To… we’re in my head.” Steve had hoped it wasn’t true, that they were in the in-between place El travelled through, but he’d been right the first time; Billy was in his head._

_“Yeah, I am.” Billy looked him in the eye, cocking his head, mouth curved so kind. “Why’s it so dark in here baby?”_

He wakes to the sun streaming in through Will’s bedroom window; feeling sticky and sore in the summer heat. August was going to go on forever if he didn’t do something about it. _Why’s it so dark in here baby?_ Billy – Billy was alive and talking, and not just in his head. Steve suddenly felt too big for his skin – bones thrumming and heart trying to break free. Billy’s alive, he’s alive, he’s – somewhere. Locked up somewhere with some people who were going to move him. Move him where? Closer? Further away? It didn’t matter – Steve was going to get him back. Billy was alive, and no hell-spawn, upside-down, conspiracy theory bullshit was going to keep Billy from the resounding telling-off Steve was going to give him for driving him crazy.

He should be panicking or freaking out or – or something, but he just… couldn’t. He had a plan, a mission Billy had given him, and Steve was finally in the mood for action.

As he pushed himself up, he discovered the jacket lying next to him, pressed up against his side like a lover. He might not be able to give it back; the leather and weight were almost addictive in how much he longed for them. Maybe Billy could wear it every now and then, once he got back; to top up the smell – Steve shook his head. Just because Billy called him baby in his head didn’t mean he wanted Steve doused in his smell and wrapped in his jacket, but maybe he could pretend.

On shaking legs he stood, jacket clutched to his chest as he slipped on his sneakers and quietly made his way out of Will’s bedroom. They’d insisted he stay, practically forced him into Will’s room to sleep. He’d felt the need to not be in the way, to not cause any more trouble; but then he’d been so tired and lonely, and they’d been so insistent. So, he was weak, Robin kept telling him that was ok sometimes, to need people like that. It had ended badly with everyone so far; but call him an optimist, he kept letting them sway him anyway.

The kids were all asleep in the living room, sprawled across the floor. El and Max were squished together on the sofa, out of reach much to Hopper’s probable insistence. Even Robin was still there, half upright in a chair and drooling a little. Steve was suddenly struck by how much he loved her, and how pissed she was going to be after this was over. But he couldn’t tell – he couldn’t involve any of them, not without guarantees.

He turned and made his way to the front door, slipping into the sultry morning. Jonathan’s car was parked behind his, blocking him in, _fuck_.

“Going somewhere kid?” _Double fuck_. Hopper was sat on a plastic chair to his left, half-burned cigarette in his mouth and a cup of coffee dangling from his hands. He was looking at Steve like he knew exactly what was going through his head.

Steve sighed, “morning Chief.”

“Morning Steve, felt like some fresh air, huh?” He gestured to the empty seat beside him, and like he had pulled on invisible strings, Steve obeyed.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“How you feeling this morning?”

“Fine. Better.”

Hopper ran a critical eye over him, “better huh?” He stubbed out his cigarette, surprising them both and running a cool, large hand across Steve’s forehead – it was pretty damn nice. “Still running a pretty high fever there kid.”

“It’s summer,” Steve rebuked.

“So?”

“So,” he shrugged, flopping back in his chair, “everyone’s running hot.”

“Nice try Harrington.” He stood, pulling Steve up by the elbow, shockingly gentle. “Now get your skinny ass back inside.”

“C’mon Hop-”

“Don’t make me carry you kid.”

“I don’t need – Hopper!” He was over the man’s broad shoulder quicker than he could blink; who knew the chief was so spry?

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Hop, put me down. C’mon.” Billy had said he could ask Hopper for help, and only Hopper, but Steve was beginning to think it might not be the best idea. Hopper would probably, in a bid to protect him, take over the whole thing. Steve wouldn’t get a look in – which was a problem. Not only because Steve was the one with the link to Billy, but because Steve needed to be involved. He needed to help rescue Billy, he needed to know what was going on every second; because he didn’t last time. He didn’t know anything… until it was too late.

“Hey kids, look what I caught.” Hopper dumped him onto the couch between a now awake El and Max. All the kids and Robin were awake, looking wide-eyed at the spectacle of their chief of police bodily hoisting their favoured babysitter amongst them. Hopper pointed at Steve, “you stay there,” then he turned to El, “don’t let him escape.” El fixed him with that serious look she usually saved for eggos going into the toaster.

“Steve, dude, you were trying to escape?” Dustin looked aghast, staring at him with betrayed eyes. “What the hell?”

“I wasn’t aware I was under arrest.”

“Steve, c’mon.” Robin, even with her hair a bird’s nest and sleep in her eyes, pinned him in place with a look. “We’re concerned, wouldn’t you be, if one of us was acting like you?”

“What’s going on?” Joyce appeared in the doorway, blinking owlishly at the scene before her. She fixed her gaze on Steve – he was seriously feeling like a bug behind glass. “How are you feeling, Steve?”

Steve opened his mouth to reply when Hopper cut across him, “he’s still running a pretty high fever, but no more nosebleeds or blackouts so it’s been a good 20 minutes.”

Joyce disappeared momentarily before returning with a thermometer and a serious look on her face, perching on the arm of the couch. When she leant over El to feel his forehead Steve leant back; he knew he was pouting and clutching the jacket like a kid with its blanket, but he couldn’t help himself. As lonely as he’d been feeling he’d really had enough of people’s attention and their constant attempts to get into his space all of a sudden. He wasn’t used to this, having everyone stare and ask him questions and really want to know the answer. When he’d been popular, when he’d been King Steve, people had looked at him all the time; but they were too busy vying for his attention to really see him. Tommy and Carol had seen him though, known him; but in the end, hadn’t that been the problem?

“Steve,” Joyce was still looking at him, a concerned frown marring her face. “Come on, I need to check your temperature.” He caved, he had to, what with Joyce and everyone staring at him so fixedly. When she’d put the thermometer under his tongue, Joyce turned to everyone else, “breakfast? Hop?”

“What, me?” The chief looked horrified; Steve would feel bad for him if he’d not been forcibly thrown over the older guy’s shoulder already this morning.

“You’re more than capable of putting waffles in a toaster Jim.”

“Eggos?” El said from beside Steve, eyes still on him, but head tilted towards Joyce.

“I stocked up for you guys, you go.”

“Need to watch Steve.”

“No yo-”

“No talking sweetheart.” He huffed but said no more, focus firmly on the jacket still clutched in his hands. “I’ll watch Steve El, you all go have breakfast.” He heard the murmuring and shuffling as they all left, Dustin’s voice loud and unhappy above everyone else. Joyce’s hand appeared in his vision, and he glanced up as she took back the thermometer and tsked.

“I don’t feel that bad.”

“Even so, I think you should take it easy today. How about you head back to bed?”

He relented in the end, if just to get out of the living room and everyone’s focus. Plus, he heard shuffling coming from behind Jonathan’s bedroom door and really didn’t want to deal with Nancy after the last few hours… after the last few weeks. Hiding out in the room of one of his fourteen-year-old friends (how did that become his life?) seemed like the safer option. Lying on the bed with the jacket beside him once again, it was as if the whole morning had been a waste of time – ending right back where he was when he awoke.

He had to get out of here, he had to; Billy was waiting. Plus, where was he meant to get a spare car? It’s not like he could just buy – wait. He could always use… that car. It was all fixed now, sitting in his garage waiting. It was meant to be for Max, she’d get her learners permit next year and it should really be with her, but this – this was more important. Max would understand. What better purpose could the Camaro serve than helping to bring back its rightful owner?

So, he had a second car. He could drive it up there and then use his beemer to do whatever it was Billy needed him to do tonight. His just needed to sneak out of here and get someone to help him get back from the junction once he’d dropped off the Camaro. Hopper was a no go, Robin wouldn’t trust him alone, nor would Nancy for that matter, and Jonathan would probably not be willing to lie to Nancy. And of course, all the rest of his friends were fourteen-year-olds now or trapped in a radio; except for –

_You ain’t happy less you got one_

_Tommy gun_

_Ain’t gonna shoot the place up_

_Just for fun_

_Maybe he wants to die for the money_

_Maybe he wants to kill for his country_

_Whatever he wants, he’s gonna get it!_

Steve smiled, “good morning Billy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song list so far (will update every few chapters)  
> 1\. Whole of the Moon - The Waterboys  
> 2\. Wango Tango - Ted Nugent  
> 3\. Help Me Make it Through the Night -John Holt  
> 4.Crimson and Clover - Joan Jett and the Blackhearts  
> 5\. Tommy Gun - The Clash


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guess whose still in the writing business. Why it's this one right here!
> 
> Yes, this fic is still alive and kicking, i've just been very busy and uninspired lately. However, it came back to me this week and I fully intend to keep on with Hell for Leather and, who knows, maybe even some other fics.
> 
> So, sorry for leaving you guys hanging. If any of you are still around, thanks for coming back.
> 
> There's not loads going on this chapter, just a little something to get me back into writing it. Next chapter will be longer and have a serious forward motion plot wise!
> 
> Thanks again, enjoy. :)

Sneaking out had been easier than he’d imagined, especially with El in the house. Maybe she’d been asleep, maybe she’d been distracted by Mike or, most likely, she had better things to do than keep her mind on their crumbling babysitter. Whatever the case, Steve slipped on the jacket and slipped out the window.

In the sticky august heat he longed for his car, but there was no way to get it out before one of his keepers heard it. He really didn’t feel like another trip across Hopper’s shoulder; so a walk it was. A long, sweaty, aching walk through the woods and back alleys of Hawkins, but one that helped clear his head. His purpose spurred him on, helped him ignore the pain and fatigue, the loneliness, till all he thought of was Billy; and what he needed Steve to do.

This useful feeling, the one the kids made him feel, the one Nancy had given him every now and then – it was like a drug. Spending so much time alone in his parents’ big house, trying to surround himself with people to fill the space; it never worked. Dustin and the gang needed him, even if only for a car ride or a free way into the movies. Nancy needed him when the guilt about Barb got too much (his own he shoved firmly down that slope in his mind); till she didn’t need his help anymore, or his love – and neither did his parents. Maybe Billy only needed him for now, maybe he only reached out to Steve because he was lonely and easy, and clearly desperate for some attention. Or maybe Billy missed him. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that right now, Billy needed him; and that was enough for Steve.

By the time he finally reached Tommy’s house, Steve was sweaty and trembling, dark spots dancing at the corner of his vision. He’d shed the jacket and was clutching it tightly in his clammy hands, heavy and grounding as he caught his breath. He’d seen a glimpse of Hopper’s truck as he crossed into his old friend’s neighbourhood, no doubt they’d been looking for him for a little while now. Either El had taken a look, or someone had told the chief about his and Tommy’s reconciliation because he’d had to dodge the truck a couple more times before the Hall’s house had come into view.

However, with his goal close, and no truck in sight, Steve somehow managed to stumble into Tommy’s back yard without getting caught or tripping over his increasingly uncooperative legs. Careful to avoid the downstairs windows, Steve picked up a rock and flung it at Tommy’s room, the resounding clink nearly drowned out by the sounds of summer all around. His arms felt like jelly as he threw another stone, and another, and another – he slumped down onto the grass, the blades ticking at his bare skin; dry and sharp in the heat.

Of course Tommy was out, of course he was. It was August, the middle of summer, why would he be hiding at home? He wasn’t Steve, he didn’t skulk around his big, empty, shadow-filled house and try to figure why his bones felt like lead. Tommy was fine, Tommy was good, Tommy was –

“Harrington?” – here. A sleepy, confused face beneath a shock of ginger bed hair peered down at him. Tommy cracked out a yawn, scratching his bare chest absently. “Why are you laying in the grass?”

Steve pushed up onto trembling elbows, “I need to speak to you.”

Tommy nodded, “come on in man, doors open.”

“Where are your parents?”

“They’re off in like, Cabo or something.”

With great effort Steve pushed himself up and into the house, moaning obscenely at the cranked-up AC. Sudden chill freezing the sweat across his skin till he let out a delightful shiver. Damn, he’d not realised how gross he’d been till it froze cold all over him.

“What brings you to Casa Hall this fine day Stevie?” Tommy rounded the corner and stopped dead, running a critical gaze over Steve – it was weird seeing that sort of emotion on Tommy.

“What?”

“You look like shit man.”

“Gee thanks.” Steve fell into an armchair, pulling the jacket tight against his chest. “Way to make a guy feel good.”

Tommy settled across from him, all trace of former sleepiness long gone. “Sorry dude, you’ve just been off lately and now-”

“Were you asleep?”

Tommy shrugged, “summer siesta mi amigo, you should try it sometime. I hear sleeps good for you.”

“Hilarious.”

“I’m serious man, you don’t look good.”

“I need your help.”

Tommy frowned, freckled face scrunching up in a way Steve once called adorable – well, once said aloud. He thought it a lot, thought about Tommy and Carol and how cute they were. Together, apart, with Steve – but that was before Nancy. Before Billy. It was still sweet though; the way Tommy scrunched his face like that.

“Steve, come on man, speak. Don’t float away on me.”

“I’m not – I’m not floating anywhere.”

“Good.” The sound of a car driving past filled the silence, along with the constant low hum of the AC; summer was oppressive without an end in sight. “You know Chief Hopper was here earlier.”

“I saw him driving around.”

“He was real worried about you, said I should call him if you showed up. Said I shouldn’t let you go anywhere.” _Damn_ , Steve fidgeted with the jacket, shaky but sure he could make a run for it if need be. “But when do I ever do as I’m told?”

“What?”

“Stevie, my good dude, you say you need help, I’ll help.”

“Really?”

“Of course, man, you’re my oldest friend.”

If he weren’t so wrung dry, and very probably severely dehydrated, Steve might have cried. He forgot between everything, because of everything, that Tommy had been a good friend for a long time. He’d done some shady shit, but then so had Steve. Hell, Tommy had done a lot of it _for_ Steve. The thing with Nancy, it wasn’t ok, writing it up there for all the town to see like that. Steve should have stopped him. But, shitty as it had been – as they’d both been – Tommy had done that in service of a friend. Regardless of the fact Nancy hadn’t actually betrayed him ( _yet_ , a traitorous part of his brain supplied), Tommy hadn’t called Nancy out for no reason. He’d been a jackass to everyone, but not to Steve…

“I’m sorry Tommy.”

It was the other boy’s turn to look confused, “for what?”

“I got so caught up in Nancy and being good enough for her that I screwed you and Carol over.” He swallowed, the words thick and clumsy on his tongue. “You were a good friend to me, for a real long time and I threw it away for someone who didn’t even know you… or me, as it turns out.”

Tommy smiled, really smiled, looking into Steve like hadn’t done for a long ass time. “You’re a real forgiving guy, you know that Stevie?”

“Am I?”

“Forgave Billy for caving your face in, forgave Byers for doing the same damn thing. Forgave Nancy for treating you like shit-”

“She didn’t-”

“She did, Steve. Carol always said you were too sweet for your own good.”

“No one’s ever called me sweet, Tommy.”

“You’d be surprised man.” He grinned, and for a moment it was Billy staring back at him.

“So you forgive me then?”

“You forgive me for letting Hargrove go after you like that?”

Steve shrugged; Tommy couldn’t have stopped Billy if he wanted to. “Hey man, Billy’s a damn hurricane, I don’t blame you for getting swept away.” Blue eyes and blond curls flashed through his mind, along with a feral smile and that laugh warm like sunburn. “Besides, he could be pretty charming when he wanted to be, couldn’t do much against an offensive like that.”

Tommy went still, eyes drifting down to the jacket in Steve’s grasp, leather clutched between greedy, desperate fingers. “It wasn’t all bad, was it Stevie?”

“What?”

“Being at the centre of his attention like that, sometimes I think you didn’t mind so much.”

“No,” Steve replied softly, “in the end, I didn’t mind.”

_Early December 1984_

_“So who hits harder?”_

_“Huh?” Tommy was smirking at him, leant back in one of Steve’s moms perfectly picked armchairs like he hadn’t been gone for nearly a year. Carol and Billy were on the floor in front of them, arguing about which record to put on next. Steve didn’t really care, as long as they didn’t stop talking._

_Tommy nodded at the pair, “you’ve had your ass kicked by Byers and Billy now. Who hits harder?”_

_Steve snorted, taking a swig of his gradually warming beer, “is that a real question?”_

_“I mean, sure, Hargrove looks like he packs a mean punch, but that creeper Byers was fucking raging that day.”_

_“There’s not enough righteous indignation in the world to change the fact that Billy’s arms are the size of Jonathan’s torso.”_

_“You talking ‘bout me Princess?”_

_Steve sighed, ignoring Tommy’s burst of laughter. “Figures you’d interrupt at that, you damn narcissist.”_

_“Woah, big words there pretty boy. You sure you’re using them right?”_

_“Like you’d know if I wasn’t.” Whatever rebuttal dripped wanted to drip from the tip of Billy’s manic tongue died out as the low, sombre drums of the radio filled the room._

_“Jesus Carol, again? Turn over, god.”_

_“It’s for the kids Tommy, the starving kids. Don’t you care about the starving kids? Don’t you want to let them know it’s Christmas time?” She cackled as Tommy slumped, though he grinned as she climbed into the tiny space beside him. “What’re you guys talking about anyway?”_

_“Stevie getting his ass kicked.”_

_“Oh really?” Billy crawled across the floor, carnivorous cat-man getting all up in Steve’s space. He settled next to him on the sofa, knee a hot point of contact against Steve’s thigh. “You mean I’m not the first person to paint that pretty face all purple?”_

_“And blue and green and yellow-”_

_“Ok, ok. Geez, I apologised didn’t I. And to those twerps like you wanted.” Steve nodded, Billy had, without fuss. Or much prompting. Billy could be so… easy, when he wanted to be, when he wasn’t competing with you. He could be soft. “So come on, who popped your fistfight cherry?”_

_Steve mumbled his response, “Jonathan.”_

_Billy frowned for a moment, before his eyes widened, “Byers?”_

_“Yeah, Steve got his ass handed to him by that creep,” Tommy replied._

_“Jesus Steve, those kids push you around too. That why you’re driving ‘em round everywhere all of a sudden?” Billy looked oddly serious as he spoke, eye running appraisingly over Steve. “Feel like I need to escort you round town, make sure no 8 th graders jump you.”_

_“Screw you man, I can take care of myself.”_

_As he spoke Billy got this real strange look on his face, all his edges soft and watery. The gaping stillness of the empty house at his Steve’s back suddenly reminded him of its existence, a heavyweight for something so hollow. “Yeah princess, I know you can.”_

_“You wanna know what it is Stevie?” Carol’s voice cut through the gloom, and he turned from Billy’s deep-water gaze to stare at her._

_“What’s that?”_

_“Why you need rescuing all the time.”_

_Steve bristled, “I do not.”_

_“It’s the whole pretty boy thing you got going on. You’ve got this face that just screams I won’t fight back. And you look kinda hot all bashed around a bit.”_

_“What the hell Carol?”_

_Tommy sniggered behind his beer as she went on. “I mean, the whole king Steve thing; you got that by being charming and funny and easy on the eyes. People opened the door for you, but Billy’s the one who kicked it in.” Steve fell back, mind buzzing with her words and the feel of Billy’s shoulder pressed into his._

_That Californian drawl rumbled out and straight into Steve’s chest. “What’s that got to do with Stevie having victim face?”_

_Steve’s frustrated ‘Billy!’ was drowned out by Tommy’s bark of laughter, Carol just went on. “It’s not victim face, you just… you look sweet. With your big doe eyes, and your lashes-”_

_“And your legs.”_

_“My legs?” He turned to Billy, ignoring Carol’s intense gaze. “What’s wrong with my legs?”_

_“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with your legs. Bambi.”_

_Steve launched himself at Billy, disgruntled yells to ‘shut the hell up asshole’ completely lost beneath laughter and the sound of clumsy teenage limbs knocking into furniture. With little effort Steve soon found himself flat on his back on the floor, Billy looming over him with the leonine smile. “Got ya Bambi.”_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are with another chapter.
> 
> I got a little carried away describing Billy all bundled up in the snow, in the Christmas lights and the music and everything. What can I say, he's pretty as hell and I love me some Christmas.

Steve stared at the garage door, fingers twitching down by his side. To his left Tommy stood quietly, but Steve didn’t need to look back to recognise the growing impatience in the air.

“Stevie, c’mon. I may not be as used to covert ops as you seem to be, but even I know wasting time is a bad fucking idea.”

Steve huffed, pulling the jacket’s sleeves down. “Just, I’m worried you’re going to read into this.”

“Dude, I’ve already agreed to follow you and drive you around – no questions asked – may I add. Which, seriously, it’s killing me but I’ll do it. What more could you possibly have in there?” He nodded towards the closed garage door, expression seeming to scream _get on with it, Harrington_.

“Ok, just. Ok.”

Taking a deep breath Steve lead the way into his house’s garage where, shiny and pristine as it had once been, sat Billy’s Camaro.

A stunned silence followed before, “oh Jesus.”

“Tommy-”

“Did you buy a copy of Hargrove’s car?”

“No asshole, this is Billy’s car.”

“But it was trashed, like. Totalled.”

“I fixed it.”

“You?”

“Hey, don’t look so shocked dickface. Not even I’m shit at everything.” Not that he’d really known what he was doing at first. But he’d had to figure it out, had to learn if he wanted to fix the thing. If he’d gone to McGinley’s in town everyone would have known Steve had purchased the silent hunk of gored metal that used to scream so loud around town. Known that he was trying to fix it up. Then they’d ask why and… he didn’t know if he had a real answer for that. When he’d gone to the scrapyard and paid for it, even the old guy there had been surprised that anyone would want it for more than its parts. The body, the windshield, mirrors, windows… engine; all of it needed work, a lot of work. But Steve had looked at it, looked at the once powerful, violent thing now so broken and mangled and only seen Billy. Or at least, a part of Billy he could save. In the month he’d had the Camaro Steve had worked like hell to fix the thing up. Asking whoever had any idea about cars, Hopper, Robin, McGinley at the garage. Hell, even Jonathan. He’d pored over books, manual after manual till his eyes hurt and his hands ached and bleed but, in the end, he’d managed it. Apparently, he could work hard at something after all…

“Steve.” He tore his eyes from the car; Tommy was looking at him with all the seriousness of his eighteen years. “Why do you have this?”

“I – I was going to give it to Max, once I fixed it up.”

“Billy’s sister?”

“Yeah. She gets her permit pretty soon and I thought…” he shrugged. It’d seemed like a good idea at the time, give her a little something of Billy, just like she had when she’d handed him the jacket. But now… maybe he could give her more than just a piece of Billy.

Steve cleared his throat, best not to get too caught up in hoping till… till after. “Tom, I need you to follow me in your car, ok? Then drive me back here.”

Tommy nodded, “right, sure. I’m gonna need an explanation at some point though Stevie, you know that right.” He agreed, he had to, he owed his friend that much at least.

Finally getting behind the wheel of the Camaro was strange, kind of heady. Having the leash of such a powerful thing in your hands wasn’t something he was used to. No one ever trusted him with stuff like that. Yet here he was, driving along in Billy Hargrove’s damn royal blue Camaro, Tommy close behind – suddenly he got a flash of what senior year would have been if he’d never started dating Nancy. If his only interests had been Tommy, Carol, partying, Billy – would they have filled the gaping wound inside his chest like she had? They’d certainly tried, in their own way, after he and Nancy had finished.

_December 19 th, 1984_

_“So, what are your plans for Christmas Harrington, mommy and daddy seem like the splash out types. Fancy dinner? They load you up with presents?”_

_Steve looked away from the storefront to find Billy stood behind him, laden with bags. He quirked a brow, “didn’t take you for the shopaholic type Bills.”_

_Billy just shrugged, “Maxine and Susan like to use me as a packhorse.”_

_"You and Max back on speaking terms, huh?”_

_“Well, wouldn’t you know, she takes an apology at face value. Apparently, we’re friends now, or some shit.”_

_“I think the word you’re looking for is siblings.”_

_“She’s not my-”_

_“I know, I know. She’s not your sister. You fight pretty hard against something some people would kill for; you know.” The words were out before Steve could stop them, his face heating instantly as Billy stared at him, speechless._

_Gradually, those blue eyes softened, and Billy came close, “you never did say what your plans were, Princess. Your parents home yet?”_

_“No, they’re not back.” He left off the ‘yet’, he wouldn’t have meant it anyway. Since he was fourteen Christmas for Steve was a card from somewhere nice and a merry, drunken phone call in the evening. Somewhere, he felt like Billy knew that, because he didn’t push._

_As the other boy looked into the storefront those blue of his eyes caught the twinkling from the shop’s Christmas lights, and the artificial joy sparkled into something bight and alive in Billy’s irises. Snow had been falling lightly for the last few hours, and flakes would drift slowly into his hair and eyelashes and melt or settle on his jacket and make it shine in the sparking street as December so loudly and joyfully proclaimed itself._

_As beautiful as Billy must have looked all sun-kissed and sweaty on the beaches of California, Steve was really fucking happy he got to see him now, bundled up and beautiful in the snow. Winter suited Billy just as much as summer._

_“You staring at me Harrington?”_

_Steve was so enamoured with the scene that he couldn’t even lie, “yeah.” Maybe it was the glow, but Steve was pretty damn sure he spied a pink tinge to Billy’s face this time, which did nothing for the dreamy pulsing of his heart. “You like winter, Billy?”_

_The other boy frowned, “winter?”_

_“Yeah, the snow and the colours and everything?”_

_“I mean, it's different. Not a big fan of the cold or anything. Why?”_

_“It just… it suits you.”_

_“Suits me?” Billy’s voice had gone strangled, and he steadfastly focused on his hands as he fumbled for a cigarette._

_“Yeah, all the lights and the colours, you look – you look like a painting. All perfect for Christmas. Sort of, pristine.”_

_Billy’s head snapped up, unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. After a few silent seconds, the only noise the tinny sound of Christmas tunes from a music box and a far-off carol, Billy came back to himself. He lit his cigarette and locked eyes with Steve. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you princess.”_

Steve parked the Camaro a few yards away from the junction, where Tommy idled in his own car. He turned off the engine after finding a decent place suitably hidden away from the road, feeling the purr of the engine slowly rumble to a stop. He sat in the quiet for a few moments, a strange sense of calm washing over him. The stress of the last few days – few weeks – the sleepless nights and the aching loneliness, it had all been weighing heavier and heavier as he fought to keep his head above water and not let anyone know just how close he was to drowning. But now Billy had given him a purpose, his life wasn’t a never-ending summer anymore. He wasn’t meandering from day to night, empty hour to empty hour; because Billy needed him.

Tommy didn’t say anything as Steve climbed into his car, he didn’t say anything as they drove into town, or when they passed into Loch Nora. However, once they pulled up outside his quiet house, Tommy killed the engine and turned to him, face serious.

“I know I promised no questions man, but… has this got something to do with Billy?”

“Billy?”

“It’s just. The car and the jacket and seeing as how this is the most I’ve even seen you since he…”

Steve swallowed, voice thick when he spoke, “since he died.” It wasn’t easier to say. He thought it might have been, now that he knew Billy wasn’t dead – at least, he was pretty sure he wasn’t dead. After the radio and the dreams, if this was all in his head then Steve was so far beyond, he didn’t know if he could crawl his way back out again.

"So is it?”

“I – I can’t really say yet Tommy.”

The other boy sighed, hands clenching on his steering wheel. “I just. I’m worried about you man, and I can’t lose another friend. I can’t. Especially if it’s you.”

A thick lodge of emotion wedged itself in his throat, eye burning. God, he’d been so selfish. Wallowing in his own misery when Tommy and Carol had lost Billy too. They may not have had the same intense type of friendship he and Billy had shared, but they’d been friends for longer, without the bad memories of antagonism and violence.

_I would say I’m sorry_

_If I thought that it would change your mind_

_But I know this time_

_I have said too much_

_Been too unkind_

Maybe he could make up for it. He was going to save Billy; he was going to make Max and Tommy happy; he was going to fix things for everyone.

_I tried to laugh about it_

_Cover it all up with lies_

He could do that, he could get out of that dark place in his head, be useful; he was good enough to do that.

_I tried to laugh about it_

_Hiding the tears in my eyes_

_Cause boys don’t cry_

“What the hell is up with my radio?”

“Huh?” Steve blinked, awareness tumbling back in as he watched Tommy fiddle with the radio. So, he’d not been imaging the Cure, that was something at least.

_I would break down at your feet_

_And beg forgiveness, plead with you_

_But I know it’s too late_

_And now there’s nothing I can do_

“Tommy.”

“Seriously, this damn thing.”

“Tommy, don’t worry about it right now.” Tommy looked at him then, Robert Smith still crooning away behind him. “I can’t tell you anything right now,” he held up his hands as Tommy went to respond. “But I will, tomorrow. I promise.”

_I would do most anything_

_To get you back by my side_

“Ok Stevie, I’ll hold you to that.”

_But I just keep on laughing_

_Hiding the tears in my eyes_

_Cause boys don’t cry_

_Cause boys don’t cry_


End file.
